The Lady of Blood

Drek spat blood. Shikes didn’t have blood. His ragged wings pulsed with his heart beat.  His thin flesh trembled and bulged. Drek’s face swelled to obscure his vision.

“Master,” Drek pleaded. “Mercy!”

The creature stumbled to his knees. Difficult to do for the shike, for as his bloated legs met the stone floor they burst into pools of crimson. The blood trailed to the dark steel steps that stood before the throne. The twisted ashen throne seemed to emanate light as it was the only bright color in the entire room. Atop the throne, sat a beast above beasts. Scaled wings folded like royal robes to hide the beast’s feet. The silver scales caught the light of abandoned starlight. Its chest, cratered like the moon, rippled with muscles. Strands of stark white hair adorned its head. Horns from the back of its skull wrapped its head like a crown of bone. Yet for the fierce and horrid appearance of the body, its face rivaled the handsomest of mortals. But not even the face could remain wholly attractive, for a pair of blood red eyes haunted its visage. 

This was no mere Irk Lord, this was the Pale Aarl. Once a dragon of a bygone age, now the Aarl of these worthless shikes. The Aarl inhaled with disdain on his tongue. His territory stretched far into the South wastelands and yet it always was a shike that failed him. Not the bands of Irks, nor the ignorance of the Gloar. Always a shike. 

“Mercy,” The word came as a gurgle from the shriveling servant. The Pale Aarl rested his arms on the rests of his throne. The Irk guards began glancing at each other. Their ashen mandibles clicked in quiet murmurs, but their humanoid bodies remained as still as stone. The Aarl looked down at the shike drowning in blood. Fear erupted from every part of Drek’s composure. The Aarl thinned his gaze. With a flick of his hand the shike’s torment paused.

“Let it be known, “ The Pale Aarl said. His voice echoed in his halls. “I am not a cruel Master.” 

He let his hand fall and Drek’s flesh went limp. The bulging of blood flooded out of his mouth in a flood of red vomit. Stretched skin marked Drek as a victim of the judgment. The Shike looked up at the Aarl, yet his gaze fell only on the tips of the folded wings and no higher. 

“Merciful,” Drek’s hoarse voice said. “Merciful is the Pale Aarl.”

Silence filled the room and all attention fell on the Aarl. 

“Do not fail me,” he said. “I want him found.” 

“Yes Master,” Drek said, lowering his head to the floor. “I will find him.”

The Aarl gave no reply and waved his hand. Drek fled from the room and ran through the gates. The Aarl looked down at the stains of blood where the shike had been. With a look he ushered for the blood to be removed. Twin Irks shuffled forward to clean it up, but the blood began to move on its own. They stumbled back, as the liquid began to rain upwards. He did not have to look to know who moved the blood. For only one bore that curse. He then heard the steps of a lady’s heels. She commanded the room with her entrance. Like an Heir of Aarls, she walked into the room. Elegant was her movements with raven hair drifting behind her in a dark halo. White skin paired well with the crimson dress flowing beyond her feet. Her eyes were like the void with a single star piercing it. Lady Istre held up one finger and with that the blood obeyed her, dripping further upwards. 

The chattering of the Irks reached the Aarl’s ears. He knew what they would say before he heard. They whispered of the name many of them feared: The Lady of Blood. Enchanted with her, only the Aarl caught sight of the things that came with her. 

The lumbering Somtens held a chest between the two of them. Long fingered, long limbed Sometens. The grey featureless faces bore only sunken red eyes. The company of the Lady of Blood raised an eyebrow of the Pale Aarl. Such lowlifes had never seen his throne room. 

“Lady Istre,” The Aarl said. “You come unannounced.” 

She turned and met his gaze. This too had not been done by any in his throne room. She bowed her head and curtseyed. 

“Pardon, Pale Aarl,” Her words slithered too smoothly. Such were the ways of Ruu. “It seems the messenger I sent did not deliver.”

The Aarl said nothing.

“If it is your wish,” The Lady said. “I will return another time.”

He waved his hand dismissing the comment. “What is it that you need?” 

The Lady of Blood laughed. The air sickened with the loveliness of her mirth. 

“Always so hasty,” She said. “It must have been quick action that founded your kingdom.”

The Aarl narrowed his eyes. But he did not ask again. The Lady gestured her Somtens forward. As they set down an onyx chest, she spoke again.

“Do not curses flow freely from your hand, my Pale Aarl?” 

“Does it need be questioned?” The Aarl demanded 

“Never,” She said. “And that is why I bring this before you, Pale Aarl.”

Her use of his name did not come as reverence to his ears. He nodded, and the Somtens opened the chest. An elegant and crooked dagger lay on crimson linen. 

“And what payment,” the Aarl said. “Do you offer for the cursing of the Pale Aarl?” 

With a smile that called a single hair to attention on his neck, The Lady of Blood revealed a package from behind her back. A severed head fell to the floor. The dead eyes of the man that shrike was meant to find stared at the Aarl. Clattering of the Irks filled the room and quieted before the Aarl could silence them. 

“Very Well,” He said and gestured for the dagger to be brought forward. The Lady herself took the dagger and let it rest in her palm. She presented it for the Aarl in a bow. He extended his hand and touched it. He did not ask what curse to give, for no one demanded that of the Pale Aarl. Light fled the room and returned. The dagger sparked with a spiral of red light. The sparking light traced the dagger to the point and faded. 

“It is cursed,” The Aarl said. 

The Lady, still smiling, nodded in thanks. 

“Mighty is the curse of the Pale Aarl,” She said. She returned the dagger to the chest and the Somtens closed it. The blood of the shike now returned to the Lady of Blood. The Blood twirled around her and adorned her like streamers. 

“That is all I request,” The Lady of Blood said. 

The Aarl waved his hand to dismiss her. He waited until her footsteps and her creatures’ footsteps had faded. He then turned and focused on one of the Irk guards. 

“Find Drek and assign him a new task,” he said. The Irk nodded and left through the front gates. The Aarl sat back in his throne and sighed. With thoughts of the Lady Istre, he found himself beginning to smile. The Pale Aarl would find a way to destroy the Lady of Blood.